Property Claim
by EmberFalcon
Summary: When someone comes to collect what is theirs, do not underestimate their resolve. "Our luck was bound to run out eventually." Fenris x F!Mage!Hawke. M for later chapters. Dark themes of torture and PTSD. You have been warned.
1. Interrogation

Okay, so...yeah. This is my first Dragon Age II fic. It was honestly inspired by the fact that my team all died seconds apart from each other in my most recent playthrough on the mission, "Alone," and I started to contemplate what would happen if the game allowed failure.

I own nothing. Bioware does. But reviews are always welcome!

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"_Fine,_" a thick Nevvaran accent drawled in the darkness of the room. "So the Champion didn't deliberately incite the Tevinter mages into open conflict. I can accept that," she paused a moment, stepping closer to the dwarven rogue that occupied the lone chair in the sparsely lit space. "..._If_," she emphasized with a subtle lean toward his eye level. "You can explain what other reason she her entourage of misfits were in Tevinter in the first place, Varric." She eyed him challengingly, as if daring him to come up with yet another contradiction to the reports she had gathered.

The dwarf glared at her, mildly annoyed that she had interrupted what he would have much preferred was a brief glancing over that particular piece of his recount of his travels with the Champion. "Must you be so rude, my dear Seeker? I was in the middle of finishing that sentence!" He chastised sardonically, barely repressing a grin of triumph as she snarled at him most unbecomingly for a Chantry Seeker. He made no point to lie to her; even he knew when to come clean about the truth of a tale, especially with what was at stake. But that didn't mean he wasn't going to test her patience to no end before hand. _'If Datria were here to see this...'_ he shook his head; such thoughts would help neither the situation nor his mood.

"You were trying to avoid speaking directly of her involvement in Tevinter. We need all of the facts to understand what happened. Facts that _I do not appreciate being withheld from me!_" She slammed her open palms on the armrests of the chair he was sitting on with such a force he heard the stone chip under the steel of her gauntlets. "What business did a newly renowned Champion and noble of Kirkwall have in Tevinter almost a year before the city fell?" Her voice lowered to an almost whisper as she stood upright again. "I need to understand."

Varric leaned his elbows on his knees and groaned, head in his hands as he began to collect the words to repeat the story. "Hate to contradict your reports, but not all of us went to Tevinter," his grin fell. "It...it isn't exactly something any of us were proud of, Cassandra," that he used her first name and didn't refer to her as merely, 'Seeker,' had her spine going rigid. The defeated tone of his voice certainly wasn't helping in the sense that, this was going to be a far cry from the fantastic exploits that Varric's adopted sister had accomplished. "We...all of us...we had a pretty damned good streak of luck for almost eight years at that point, all things considered. None of us had died, none of us had succumbed to demons, no one had taken up arms against someone in the group over philosophical differences. It was...better than we had anticipated." He ended with a shrug.

The Seeker took a moment to take in Varric's countenance. His outfit of dark and neutral browns, an overcoat, and an unholy amount of chest hair hadn't changed in the days that they had been interrogating him, but with the mention of one incident, he became a new person inside those clothes. Where he had been a gallant storyteller, animatedly speaking of the adopted family that had been forced to split because of awful circumstance and even worse judgment of one of their own, adding a muted sense of his emotions on the topic at hand to emphasize a point or drive this particular chapter home, this man was undone. His eyes averted hers in a way they hadn't since he'd tried to gloss over the events with his brother. His posture, normally languid and dominating the space of that chair, suddenly hunched, almost curling in on itself in an attempt to take up less space in the hope he disappeared. This was not the Varric that had been brought kicking and screaming to their Keep. This man was a stranger in her prisoner's clothing, and it unnerved her more than she was comfortable admitting.

"Barring the deaths of loved ones," he paused and thought fondly of Leandra Hawke, always eager to dote and take all of them in as the children she never had, remembered the stories of dear sweet Bethany and wondered not for the first time how much she resembled her siblings, of the boorish and enraged Carver, ever the one with a chip on his shoulder until he called out for his sister in the throes of the Darkspawn taint in his veins, pleading softly for his big sister one last time, and thought of Bartrand, the brother who still breathed but had died in a way that seemed much more cruel than a stilled heartbeat. "...We were lucky. For a long while." He grimaced at the break in his voice. He was no where near tears, but the emotion strangled his throat and make speech oddly difficult for the otherwise talkative dwarf. It might have been a trick of what little light flitted into the room, but he thought that he saw something briefly soften in the Seeker's eyes before they resumed their steely gaze.

"What happened?" She enunciated slowly. Unbidden, memories of _that day_ surfaced in his head; lying on the floor of the tavern, grasping at Bianca feebly, trying to ignore that for the first time in a long time, more of his blood was on her than that of his enemies. Scanning the room, desperate for Anders' healing to at least hit _someone_, but seeing his crumpled body dashing that hope. What blood remained in his body drained from his face as he saw the Elf, eyes wide and silently pleading, kneeling beside a writing body wrapped in deep sapphire robes, pale hands with blackened veins reaching for her staff, still trying to heal someone when no words could pass her lips. In a voice that didn't even feel his own, he responded after pulling out of his reverie.

"We ran out of luck."


	2. Failure is always an Option

"Are you _certain_ it's her?" Datria blinked, her greeting to Fenris caught in her throat as she entered the dilapidated shelter (not a home, it would never be a home, she thought to herself) he currently stayed in. He was pacing, a wild and frantic look in his eyes as his gaze would flicker to the guard captain seated beside the table not far from him. Aveline shifted subtly in her seat, her stoic expression hiding her doubts both to the certainty of the identification and how well a meeting between the two would go if she had got it right. Her gaze lifted to the contemplative elf, who had paused in his movements, as if in anticipation in her answer.

"An elf, matching your description, on the ship you named. And alone, as far as I could tell," she stated calmly. Datria knew better than to interrupt the exchange- both she and Aveline knew what this could mean to Fenris, fears and all. And Maker bless her, Aveline was doing her best to be gentle about the information. The branded elf slapped his palms against the rotting wood of the table. The mage winced as she heard it splinter under his frustrated strike. He really needs to find a better place to live.

"I need to know if this is a trap!" Fenris snarled. Aveline knew the rage in his tone was not directed at her; they had been friends for long enough that she knew that Fenris was a man that felt in extremes, and given all that's happened to him that he remembers alone, she could hardly fault him that. Turning her head, she caught a flicker of emerald green fabric at the corner of her eye and her worries were assuaged. Datria was one of the few people that knew how to talk him down from feeling like this and allow reason to return.

"I did as you asked, Fenris. Now, it's up to you." She kept her voice gentle, Fenris knew, to show wordlessly that she didn't hold his outbursts against him. Briefly, through the frustration that was clouding his thoughts, he felt a warm sense of respect and gratitude for having such a fiercely loyal friend in Aveline. She had stood, he vaguely realized, and heard the sound of her boots clinking against the stone floor. "You talk to him, Hawke." His ears perked up at the name. When had she come in? "I've had my fill for today." Though it was meant half in jest, he still felt a brief pang of guilt that he wasn't a more patient man. It wasn't helping his mood, and finally he snapped.

"_Venhedis! Fasta vas!_" The Arcanum curses came out as more of a snarl, if she were being honest. '_Fenris. A fitting name, indeed.'_ Datria took a moment to get her voice under control; Maker help her, but when he spoke in that language...memories flashed briefly in her mind of humming lyrium etchings under her fingertips and hushed words murmured in a tongue she doesn't know against her neck- '_Not helping, brain. Focus. He needs you now.'_ She took a step toward him, still not entirely sure he was aware of her presence.

"Maybe I can help, Fenris?" he looked up at the soft voice he knew was already acting as a balm on his frayed nerves. Their gaze met briefly before his olive irises darted away. His mind was elsewhere, truth be told. He resumed his pacing, forcing his fleeting thoughts into coherence, if not for his sake, certainly for hers.

"It's my sister. I didn't tell you, but I followed up on Hadriana's information." He hesitated a moment, "Everything she said was true. I had to keep it quiet, but I eventually contacted Varania and sent her coin enough to come meet me. And now she's here..." hope and fear tangled themselves in his voice as he stopped his pacing and faced her fully; she deserved that much, at least.

"Your sister was in Carinas after all?" Datria blinked in surprise. Hadriana hadn't used her last breath to simply give Fenris one last stab of false hope, then? He nodded briefly.

"My sister left magister Ahriman's service. I found her in Minrathous- _that_ made things more difficult," he grimaced momentarily. "...but according to the men I paid, it's just as Hadriana said- she's not a slave. She's a tailor, in fact." Datria couldn't be certain, but she thought she detected a hint of pride in Fenris' voice at that last part. "Getting a letter to her was difficult, and she didn't believe me at first. But...she's finally come..." even he didn't sound like he believed how things turned out. But she still sensed his hesitation, his concern that something deeper was afoot. She sympathized- a life on the run makes one slow to trust something -or someone- other than one's self.

"You think Danarius knows?"

"The more it seems he doesn't know, the more certain I become that he does!" His voice strained in frustration. He knew he had no right to ask her help in something to personal after what he did two years ago, but he was weak, if he was being honest with himself. "Come with me, Hawke. I need you there when I meet her."

She flinched at the use of her surname. Short of a few fleeting moments, and the one night they shared together intimately, he only calls her, 'Hawke,' though because he feels he doesn't deserve to call her anything else, or because he has well and truly moved on, she can't say for certain. But this was bigger than her- bigger than whatever tentative..._thing_ was between the two of them. So, she, 'Avelines up,' in Varric's words and nods to him. "Where is she?"

"She's at the Hanged Man during the day, and will be for the next week at least," he pauses, his gaze drifts off of her momentarily as he weighs how much of himself he's willing to put into the next words that he says. "...It would mean a lot to me. That's all I ask." There. It didn't show how much he was hurting, how much regret he held inside himself that he ran from her arms that night, but at least it showed he _cared_.

His heart lifted at the smile she gave him in response, a smile she held only for him. "Then may my abilities be an extension of your will, Fenris," she said softly with a slight nod of her head. "I need to restock on our supply of poultices. Meet at the manor within the hour, and we'll head to the Hanged Man." She paused a moment to think."I'll round up Varric and Anders, too. Better safe than sorry, yeah?" She smiled reassuringly before she turned and left the building.

True to his word, he was in the foyer of her manor an hour later, fidgeting with his gauntlets to keep his nerves at bay. Varric and Anders were there as well, chatting amicably amongst themselves about some interest of theirs that he hadn't been listening to, if he were honest. The sound of someone descending the stairs drew the gaze of the three men, and an appreciative whistle from the dwarf. The speech stolen from his throat, he decided to admit to himself that she was _gorgeous_. The crimson material hung on her body as though it were a second skin, the gray detailing complimenting her eyes. The exposed shoulders and neckline just low enough to lovingly cup the swell of her breast nearly made his heart skip a beat. Though his face remained neutral, almost indifferent, his eyes flashed in approval, in adoration of her, and she smiled in earnest in return. "Damn, Hawke- who told you it was my birthday?"

"I'm merely wearing this for the improved armour protection, Varric," she said simply. "We're going to the Hanged Man to meet with Fenris' sister."

"Sister? So the blood mage wasn't trying to let us on," Anders murmured almost to himself. Datria gave a curt nod.

"It might be a set up, something Danarius is trying to bait him with, so we're going there to make sure it stays as nothing more than a family reunion." Varric nodded.

"And if we're ambushed? I didn't see anyone suspicious at the tavern when I left, but there were rooms that I couldn't see into on my way out."

"Then we deal with them, same as we always do."

The brief trip to Lowtown was largely uneventful, as it typically is during the day. Short of a few overzealous merchants needing to be waved off and some banter back and fourth between the four of them, the journey was a smooth one. They were standing outside the Hanged Man within twenty minutes. Fenris hesitated, his hand hovering over the doorknob before he opened the door to the establishment. They stepped in, feeling the warmth of the tavern stave off the chill outside. Datria stole a glance at Fenris, whose eyes had settled on one of the few patrons in the bar tonight. A pretty elf, with fiery red hair and eyes that looked achingly familiar to her.

"There's normally no sitting room this time of day, Hawke," Varric whispered to her conspiratorially as Fenris began to walk toward the woman. "I'm smelling a set-up." She nodded tightly.

"Be ready." They joined their companion as he choked out his sister's name.

"It really is you," she said with an almost painful lack of enthusiasm or relief.

"I...I remember you." Memories flickered in and out of his mind; a child, a sister with freckles and wild red hair and an infectious giggle as he chased her around a courtyard. An older woman with inky black locks wrapped in a messy bun scrubbing laundry that was not hers as she watched with a sad smile. "We played together in the master's courtyard while mother worked." Her heart broke at hearing him so vulnerable. "You called me..." his brow furrowed in thought, as he desperately grasped at the memories that flitted in and out of focus.

"Leto." The woman said in a broken voice. "That's your name," she turned her head, as though she couldn't even look him in the eye. Datria's gaze turned to their surroundings; what doubts she had that this was a set up were rapidly vanishing, and she found herself reaching behind her to grip her staff in preparation.

Fenris seemed oblivious to it. "What's wrong? Why are you so...?" Time seemed to slow as she saw an elderly man, draped in magister's robes begin to descend the stairs. She had never asked for Danarius' description, but the _look_ in this man's eyes at he eyed Fenris screamed his identity before he had even uttered a word. She drew her staff in front of her as she stepped forth to be the barrier between this madman and the broken boy who escaped him.

"Fenris, we need to get out of here, _now!_" His trance was broken when his eyes snapped to her questioningly.

"Ah, my little Fenris." To her dying day, she will remember the look of betrayal, of devastatingly painful resignation at the sound of that voice that made even her skin crawl. "Predictable as always."

"I'm sorry it came to this, Leto." Ah, so she does know how to show emotion. Despite the weight of the guilt in her tone, Fenris let out a snarl.

"_You led him here._" That it wasn't a question made it sting a little more. The lyrium in his flesh surged in his anger, his pose turning almost feral as he hunched over menacingly, hand already gripping his blade in anticipation for slaughter.

"Now, now, Fenris. Don't blame your sister." The mirth that dripped from Danarius' voice was enough for even Anders, who never saw eye to eye with Fenris, to want to rip his trachea out and show it to him. "She did what any good Imperial citizen should." It was easier to ignore Varania and her betrayal for now, Fenris decided.

"I never wanted these filthy markings, Danarius. But I won't let you kill me to get them!" They pulsed once more and held their glow, challenging their maker to come for them. The magister simply chuckled lightly.

"Oh, how little you know, my pet." Varric didn't even try to hide the growl that escaped his throat. Ownership was something of a sore subject for Fenris, and while they may bicker, he was almost as close to Fenris as he was Hawke and Merril, and this monster was _not_ going to toy with him any longer. "And this is your new master? The Champion of Kirkwall? Most impressive." Oh, Bianca was going to _enjoy_ destroying this beast.

"Fenris doesn't belong to anyone!" came the Champion's swift response. Danarius seemed unaffected by the retort, merely smirking in response.

"Do I detect a note of jealousy?" He chuckled again. "It's not surprising. The lad is rather skilled, isn't he?" The shameless implication of the horrid acts Fenris could only vaguely mention in passing comments and silent gestures made Datria's blood boil.

"Shut your mouth, Danarius!" Fenris growled, his markings flashing in rage. The magister's gaze darkened as his expression turned sour. Ah- a crack in his facade.

"The word is _master_," he said with a sigh. The monster's guards began to circle the group as Varania huddled into the corner to hide from the battle. The men drew their blades, and the fight was on.

With a smirk, Varric hoisted Bianca into the air and fired off a barrage of bolts into the crowd of guards. Nearly in tandem, a kind of synchronization that only comes with years of fighting alongside someone, Anders used the distraction to summon a tempest, giving the guards far more to worry about than mere arrows raining from above. Fenris darted in and out of sight, becoming a blur of blue light and steel and blood that left nothing alive in its wake. Datria held her own, summoning ice and fire to do her bidding, but a guard managed to get a lucky slash into her side. With a well placed fireball, he was turned to ash, and before long, the remainder of the guards had been slain.

Danarius, behind his barrier, scoffed, and with a flick of his wrist, the soldiers were replaced with monstrous beings from the Fade, and a second wave of the battle commenced. These were no mortals- they had more to them, and were infinitely harder to slay. There was clashing of steel against mottled flesh and claws scraping against limbs, and the whizzing of crossbow bolts before they sunk into their targets. The smell of lyrium and the tingle of magic permeated the space, and still they fought, their attacks frantic, but still deliberate and precise as ever.

With the an indignant huff following the last of the Shades dying, Danarius dropped his shield, eager to fight, but not alone. More demons from the Fade took the place of their felled brethren, and it wasn't long before doubts of their chances of victory crept into their minds. Anders did what he could to heal the party and fend off the demons, but it was fast becoming clear that his mana reserves were depleted and then some. When the last of the lyrium potions had been consumed and he found his mana drained once more, panic began to set in, and before long, he had been thrown against a wall with a sickening _crack_, and knew no more.

Varric, seeing one of their healers down, grimaced as his tired arms locked another bolt into Bianca to fire at the Shades, but they swarmed him with a sudden vengeance he wasn't prepared for. He pushed and struggled against them, but with little to no stamina left to draw on, the Shades clawed at him until his wounds were too grievous for him to remain standing. His senses dulled, his vision blurry, he sunk to the floor, Bianca clattering uselessly at his side.

Datria saw Fenris suddenly being overwhelmed by an alarming amount of the Shades, so she threw a healing spell his way before sweeping around the room with her eyes. Seeing the two of them as the only ones standing, she felt the beginnings of panic setting in. She redoubled her efforts against Danarius, desperate to fell him, at the very least, before she succumbed to the exhaustion she was beginning to feel. Why were spells becoming harder to cast...? The room...? Why was she feeling dizzier and dizzier?

Fenris took a moment to process the shock of his blade not finding a Shade where there had been a swarm of them only moments ago. What had...? The sound of hands slowly clapping drew his attention, and the sight would forever be ingrained into his nightmares. Datria, pale as his hair and trembling in pain, frantically trying to summon magic that would not come, staff quivering in her grip as she struggled to stand. And Denarius, ever the sadistic monster he was, slowly applauding at the Champion's efforts to try and keep fighting.

"Impressive struggle, my dear girl. But it is in vain," he made a grand sweeping gesture with his arm. "Your compatriots are unconscious, and you are...indisposed," he sneered, as if proud of his handiwork. "A little poison I concocted, I confess. A simple debilitating poison, laced with Magebane." He flicked his wrist, and Datria, helpless to protect herself, was flung into the center of the floor. Her staff clattered off a foot or two out of her grasp. Fenris saw, with horror, that her veins were much more pronounced and had blackened, a stark contrast against her steadily paling skin. "Magebane is bad enough when absorbed into the skin or the lungs, but the blood?" He grinned wickedly. "You'll be lucky to live, _girl_." He spit in her direction.

"_DENARIUS!" _Fenris thundered, lifting his sword and beginning his charge. Damn his lack of stamina, he _will see this man pay_. The old mage scoffed at his slave, a hand held in his direction as the distance was steadily shrinking.

Unbidden, Fenris' lyrium brand glowed white, and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. The howl of pain that escaped his throat would haunt Datria's and Varric's memories for the rest of their lives as the elf froze mid-sprint, dropping his sword as his body writhed in place against his wishes. "Come now, little wolf," Denarius cooed mockingly as the glow subsided. Fenris sunk to his knees, his legs unable to keep him standing. "You know better than that," he walked over to Datria, stomping his boot into her spine and making her cry out sharply in pain.

"Hawke-!" Fenris bit out, staggering to his feet and forcing his body over to hers. He dropped to his knees once more and reached out to her, desperate to pull her to him, to take her pain and her suffering and inflict it upon himself, if it meant that she lived. The moment his fingers brushed her exposed shoulder, the veins of blackness there rippled, and she screamed in agony as the poison pulsated in her veins. He snatched his hand away from her, forcing himself to slide back from her. What had happened?!

"How foolish, my pet." His eyes snapped to Denarius, whose posture reeked of the authority he had tried for years to outrun. "Lyrium had magical properties. Your very touch hastens her death from the magebane, pup." His face held an expression of mock sympathy, but his eyes were black with joy at his victory.

"Datria..." the name was wrenched from his lips in a sob as he watched her gasp and choke on her pain, powerless to stop it as he was. She was reaching out for her staff, for Fenris' hand, for anything she could hold as an anchor, and his heart constricted. How did it come to this? How did he let this happen? His eyes swept to his other companions. Varric was still conscious, but barely, his eyes wide in disbelief and panic at the thought of Hawke dying. Anders remained unconscious, the blood trickling from his forehead making a menacing stain on his skin.

"Come along now, Fenris," Denarius murmured darkly, his magic flickering at his fingertips, ready to subjugate his slave once more if need be. "Our ship leaves within the hour. If you come without a fight, I shall spare your little friends from the death you have condemned them to." Bile rose up in Fenris' throat. He squeezed his eyes shut, putting forth a colossal effort to keep his tears from falling. What choice did he have?

"Fenris..." His eyes shot to hers as she wheezed his name. Her face was ashen, the blackened veins creeping across her flesh as she struggled for the privilege of breath, her raven locks free of their loose tie, wildly strewn about the floor. "...love...run...! Go...! Please...!" His tears were now falling freely, unable to hide his anguish at this wonderful, beautiful woman pleading for his freedom even at the cost of her own life. Regret hit him harder than it had since the night he left her as he thought of the time he had completely and totally _squandered_ because of his cowardice. He shook his head sadly.

"I'm sorry, Datria," he whispered earnestly, his voice too raw for much else. "I have to save you." He stood on shaky legs and said loud enough for his master to hear, "I have no choice." He averted his eyes from Datria's, unable to see the horror in her eyes as she tried to plead with him once more. "I...I will go with you." His legs carried him around his beloved Champion's writhing body, grimacing at the stickiness of her blood pooling on the floor against his foot.

"There's a good little wolf," his master's (he choked on the bile in his throat at the thought) delighted tone grated against his very soul. "As promised," with a flourish, he produced a vial of bright blue liquid from a pouch at his side. He set it just out of Datria's reach. "Although," he returned to Fenris, eyeing the red cloth wrapped around his wrist and the crest he wore at his hip. "I simply must rid you of these..._claims of my property_." He hissed as he pulled the items off of Fenris' trembling form. "You know how jealous I get, little wolf." With a swish of his robes, he was making his way to the door. "Come along, my pet. Home awaits us!" A tingling hand on his back, while forcing his markings to flare in pain, served as a silent warning- look back, resist in any way, and I will _make _you follow. Painfully. _'No,'_ Fenris thought sadly as they made their way to the ship he had nightmares of. _'Home is what I'm leaving behind.'_


	3. Interrupt

"Captured?" Cassandra cut the dwarf off. "That isn't what our reports uncovered," she trailed off at Varric's shift in countenance. Gone was the melancholic reminiscing look in his eye, swallowed by a level of rage she hadn't seen in the dwarf. Even when he spoke of his brother, there was anger tempered with regret and bitterness. Not here, though. Here, he was fury and belligerence embodied. "We were told..." she tried to explain clinically, but he cut her off. Odd change in roles there, she thought to herself.

"You were told that Danarius offered the Champion a deal for his slave and that she took it with a smile on her face," he snarled. "That the elf all but begged on bended knee for her to help him, and she shrugged and said that he was on his own?" The anger he harbored would be less fear inducing if he had shouted. If he had screamed and raised his voice and let it take over his entire being, then she could let him rant it out and wait for an explanation. But he wore his animosity like a well-tailored coat; it neither consumed him in its fold, nor did it restrict him in the slightest, and she wasn't sure how to handle this side of him.

"I just want to make sure we hear the truth, Varric," she lifted her hands in a complacent manner. "If we weren't told the truth before, I want to change that." The dwarf sighed deeply and managed to reign in his temper before speaking again.

"Apologies, Seeker. Of all the inconsistencies in Hawke's story, _that_ one bothers me the most," his lips pulled into a rueful grin. "And believe me, I've heard some pretty awful ones."

"For what it is worth," Cassandra said softly. "After what you've told me so far, I didn't want to believe she did such a thing," he snapped his gaze to her to contradict her, to say that, _no_, she didn't get to try and be sympathetic now, but stopped when he saw the sincerity in her eyes. His expression softened. Maybe he was getting his point across about her, after all. "But the Champion and the elf hadn't been together for years at that point," she felt the need to ask; it was something that had been bothering her since he mentioned that they had separated after only one night together. "Surely feelings fade after so long? Even a little?"

"A fair question," he chuckled without mirth. "But I'll tell you the same thing I've told countless others," he leaned into his knees, resting his forearms on them. "They said they weren't together, but no one ever tried to make a move on either of them. Even Rivaini knew better, and that's saying something."

"But I don't-"

"It didn't matter what they said," he responded with a fond chuckle. "She taught him to read and write, he learned how to allow us to be friends with him," He thought a moment before he amended, "Except Anders. But I think that was a choice they both made."

"They never seemed...chummy." She ignored the part of her that was a little pleased when Varric laughed openly the the statement.

"To put it lightly," he replied after he'd regained composure. "Oh, Maker, I needed that." His smile dimmed into something softer. "I've never seen two things made to fit together more perfectly than when they held hands. So no," he grimaced, "she _didn't_ willingly let him go. When she woke up, when we had to tell her that the others couldn't get to him in time," his eyes darkened at the reminder of the sheer level of inconsolable anguish in her eyes, the self _blame_ she threw on herself.

"I can't imagine she was pleased." Varric shrugged. "Then what happened?"

"We began to look for leads, dear Seeker. What else?"


End file.
